I Believe in Who are you Again?
by supernaturaldh
Summary: Dean said it was an average salt and burn, nothing extremely hard or extraordinary about it, just routine, and well normal if your last name was Winchester. Unfortunately, Dean was wrong about this one.
1. Chapter 1

**I believe in…and who are you, again?**

**By **: supernaturaldh

**Disclaimer: **I don't own them, never will.

**Summary: **Dean said it was an average salt and burn, nothing extremely hard or extraordinary about it, just routine, and well normal if your last name was Winchester. Unfortunately, Dean was wrong about this one. A Limp Sam, Big Brother Dean Story. Something to occupy my mind during the summer break!

**Chapter One**

**Something Isn't Right**

The daylight was a sluggish grey color as the unconscious Winchester pried open his heavy eyelids and looked lazily around the dimly lit woods. It was chilly; actually, now that he thought about it, it was freak'n cold. He shuddered and gazed blankly up at the velvety blackness, stars twinkling in the sky, the moon glowing down at him. _What times it? _His thoughts were muffled and unclear as he blinked blankly up at the weaving tree branches above his aching, throbbing head. He moved weakly, shaky hands pressing downward against the damp grass as he attempted to ground himself and stop the twirling, spinning world. _Where am I? _ He batted his lashes to clear his hazy vision and slowly turned his heavy head. He peered perplexedly around him. _Am I in a grave yard?_ He struggled to focus, to clear his blurry thoughts – to remember.

He squint his eyes closed and sucked in a ragged gasp of air. _Okay, okay….breath just… In…out…in out. _ Something ran into his eyes, coated his eyelashes, and sat heavily against his sluggish lids. He attempted to blink the goo away. Slowly he moved his shaky hand up to swipe against his face, and then press harshly against the side of his throbbing temple. _Why's my head hurt? _He moved his fingers up to appear directly in his face. He wiggled and gazed stupidly at his coated fingers. _Is that blood?_ A murky sticky substance covered his digits, and he gasped, now realizing he had obviously hit his head, and hard. Sudden nausea rolled inside his gut and he swallowed it back down thickly, fighting to keep the contents of his stomach where they were. _Don't get sick, don't get sick, don't... get... sick_. He lost the battle though, and his body immediately convulsed against him; the vile liquid spewing uncontrollably up and out his gagging throat. He turned his head and let the substance spew unabatedly down against the grass. _Concussion…that's just great. _

"Guh…" he mumbled as he slowly tugged his flailing hand up to swipe across his lips at the warm liquid that now dribbled down his chin. _Man, this sucks._

He shuddered and rolled limply back against the cold ground, the world doing a lazy spin above him. He closed his eyes, then darted them quickly back open. _Something isn't right? _ Something niggled at his consciousness forcing him to stay awake. He almost had it, but then his concussed thoughts escaped him and he stared blankly back up at the moon smiling down on him. _Something isn't right._ His thoughts were a muzzy mess of nothingness and he sighed in confusion. _There's something I should be doing….humph… _His brow furrowed in concern as his body gave a little shudder against the chilling cold. A sudden memory flashed across his aching head as cohesive thoughts attempted to filter in through the fog. He suddenly fought to catch his breath. _A graveyard; a ghost…and Sam…Sam…where the hell is Sam?_

"Sammy?" he yelled shakily as he pushed away from the dirt, his arms flailing uncoordinatedly around, his heart thudded madly in his chest. _Where the hell is Sam? _

He rolled frantically to his knees, his hands shaking as his body wavered on all fours and fell back against the tree. _The tree…he remembered dinner in a tiny diner, he remembered arguing with Sam. The hunt, and then, he remembered flying through the air, hitting this freaking tree…the tree next to his head. _He violently gripped at the dewy grass, fingers digging into the muddy dirt as he attempted to hold his wobbly body steady. He pushed off, and upward, his lax knees wavering as he struggled for control. One had pushed hard against the tree stump, the other clutched at his stomach as it rolled and flopped with the motion. _I am not throwing up again!_ His body swayed against his unstable legs as he made his way to stand. He swallowed convulsively and sucked in another breath of air, he didn't have time to be sick, and he had to find Sam. His slightly dilated green eyes scanned the empty cemetery; he had to find Sammy, and he had to do it now. 

**Earlier that same evening…**

Dean's face lit up with a bright smile. _Man I'm starving._ He slid into the booth of the dimly lit diner in Podunk, North Dakota. _Where the hell are we again? Bobby sends us to the most remote places on earth to hunt. _He yanked up the sticky menu and glanced down at it before gazing across the booth at his quiet baby brother. All he could see was the top of Sam's head, his eyes hooded by the menu and his too long messy hair. They'd made it just in time to eat dinner before the restaurant closed down for the night. He glanced at his watch – 8:30 p.m. and the town was closed up for the evening. He sighed loudly. _Huh, probably not a bar for miles, and miles, and miles_. He needed something to do, he had to keep himself busy, keep his mind of his father and the final words he said. _Watch out for Sammy, if you can't save him, you might have to kill him._ _What the hell did that mean?_ The thought made him nervous, anxious, so he pushed it from his head. He needed to be doing something, keep busy, keep his thoughts from running wild; and lately, well, that was all the freaking time. He dropped the menu to the table.

Sam was bone tired, had been for a while. Dean was wearing them both down with this unrelenting hunt. Since their father had died, Dean had been spinning out of control. Hell, they both were. It was hard, he missed his Dad, but he missed his brother even more. Dean was closed off now, keeping his thoughts all to himself, and it was wearing on Sam's nerves. Let alone it was a full time job just keeping his big 'gung ho' brother from doing something stupid every day. Hunt… it was all Dean wanted to do anymore, no breaks, no sleep, twenty four seven, 'saving people, hunting things'.

"Steak and eggs," Dean said as he nodded his head at the matronly waitress who was filling up his coffee cup.

"And you sir," the waitress stood and waited, balancing one hand on her hip, coffee pot poised inside the other.

Silence.

"Sam," Deans hand darted across the tiny space and yanked the menu down against the table top.

Sam jumped with the motion, eyes blinking rapidly several times. "Damn it, Dean," he muttered.

Dean's lips curled up in a grin. It was obvious to him that Sam had dozed off while looking at the menu. He recognized the signs, slow-moving hazel eyes blinking vacantly across at him.

"He'll have a grilled chicken sandwich, side salad with low fat ranch dressing, and a glass of water." He pulled up both menus, tugging at Sam's lightly so that his brother would let it go. "And, if you don't mind, fill up his coffee up."

The older brother reached over and flipped the downturned coffee cup over as the waitress smiled at him.

"Road trip?" she queried to Dean as she eyed Sam and filled up his coffee cup.

"Yes mame," Dean nodded lightly at the woman.

"Well, if you came here for excitement, you got off on the wrong exit." She snorted as she turned and moved back toward the kitchen.

Dean chucked and downed a swig of his steaming cup of brew. _Ah…nectar of the gods._ He watched silently as his little brother opened up four sugars and poured them in his coffee cup_. Man, Sam sure knows how to ruin a dang good cup of coffee. _He shook his head in disbelief. "So, tell me again 'bout this hunt" he asked as he watched his brother's long fingers wrap around the mug and draw it slowly to his lips. _ Hump…he looks kind of tired. _

Sam blew out a weary sigh, lowered the coffee cup back to the table and looked across at his older brother. Dean was wound up tighter than a watch spring these days, and he, well; he could barely keep his own eyes open.

"Bobby said Henry Horton is buried in the Whites Creek Cemetery just outside of town on Highway 99. Mr. Horton has been terrorizing some friends of friends of Bobby's. He said it's a long story. The ghost's been wrecking havoc on their farm outside of town. Bobby's already investigated it, but got called off on a more pressing hunt before he could salt and burn the bones. So…" Sam heaved a weary breath of air, "here we are." He pulled the coffee cup back up to his lips and took a large extended gulp.

Dean grinned. "Piece-a-cake."

Sam huffed, "Yeah, that's what you always say. We need to do a little research our selves before we go out there."

Dean frowned, "More research, what the hell for, Bobby said he'd checked it out."

"No Bobby said he'd investigated it, he didn't say anything about research."

"Huh…whatever…investigates, researches, tomato tomatoe…?" Dean's empty coffee cup slammed hard against the tabletop.

Sam eyed his brother in exasperation as he sat his own cup down. He wished his older brother was more about research and less about the hunt. "Dean, we got to know what's going on…." He trailed off as the waitress suddenly reappeared with their food.

They watched as their plates were placed on the table, their coffee cups refilled.

"You guys good?" The motherly looking woman asked with a nod of her head.

"Yes," Dean smiled brightly.

"Thank you," Sam whispered.

"Eat up boys, don't let it get cold." With that, she turned and strolled away.

The only noise in the booth now was the sound of Dean's fork and knife scrapping on his plate as he hungrily dug into his steak and eggs.

Sam watched his brother for a long moment.

"You going to eat that," the older brother nodded at Sam's plate. "Or look at me all night long?" He asked through a mouth of eggs.

Sam cringed at the sight of food overflowing with his older brother's lips. _Dean always talks with food in his mouth…gross… _He rolled his eyes and blew out a weary breath. Slowly he picked up his fork and poked gingerly at his salad.

**-0-**

Dean smiled as he dropped to the driver seat of the Impala. He rubbed his hand across his happy belly. He'd just had a good meal, and he wasn't tired at all, not at all. He glanced across at Sam. His little brother was sliding slowly in beside him on the bench seat of the car. He almost laughed at the sight of Sam's long legs wedged up against the dash.

"We should do this thing tonight." he said as he started up the car.

_Huh?_ Sam shifted in the front seat, his head rose as his brow furrowed in dismay and he stared across at Dean. _What? _"No." He stated flatly. _Obviously, Dean didn't need to sleep these days_. "We talked about this already."

The older brother sighed. He just didn't want to wait till morning, he needed the adrenaline rush, he wanted it, and it was all he had these days, well, since their Dad had died. _Dad…_ He shook his head to clear the thought away. He didn't want to think about that right now, actually, not ever; one hunt right after the other, that's how he liked it, and that's how it was going to be. Sam could just shut the hell up and live with it. No time to think, no time to talk, no time for his little brother to go all 'emo' on him and want to share his feelings. Nope, not happening, he wasn't doing that.

"Oh come on man," Dean said firmly. "We can just stop off and take care of this ghost before we got back to the motel. Get it done tonight. It's dark. There won't be anyone at the cemetery at this time of night…" His words trailed off as he looked determinedly at Sam.

The youngest Winchester's mouth fell open in aghast. _Dean was serious?_ He rolled his eyes. _What the hell, _"No," the younger brother said again. _He wants to take out the ghost without even doing any research? _

"Awe…com'on Sammy, the gears all loaded in the trunk."

Dean pulled out onto the empty roadway.

Sam's head whipped around to look at his brother. "Damn it Dean, the hotels the other way." He huffed incredulously.

The Impala continued down the road.

"Dean….," Sam whined. "We need to do some more research, and we don't even know what we're up against."

Dean ignored his little brother and pushed the gas pedal harder on the floor.

Sam sighed. _Dean… It was his way or no way; ever since their father died. _

"It's just an average salt and burn," Dean continued happily. "Nothing extremely hard or extraordinary about it," his happy fingers twitched and tightened on the steering wheel. "Bobby said so, Sam," he reassured. "We go in, find the grave, torch the bones, and we are out of there."

Sam gave his older brother an icy glare. _This is a bad idea, a very bad idea. _

_**A/N: It's been awhile since I posted a story. I kind of lost my muse, but seemed to be getting it back again. Go figure, sometimes life just gets in the way, and you can't seem to think about writing! I hope some of you like this and feel like reviewing it and keeping my muse working overtime. –supernaturaldh-**_

6


	2. Chapter 2

**I believe in - and who are you, again?**

**By: supernaturaldh**

**Chapter Two**

**Open Graves and Open Wounds**

The trek across the graveyard was chilly, the sun long gone behind the trees.

Sam stopped momentarily, sat his salt gun to rest against a grave marker and tugged his jacket up closer to his body. He pulled the zipper up.

"Move it Sam," Dean hissed. "Let's get this done already."

The older brother was eager to get into the hunt.

Sam's fingers fumbled with the handle of the shovel. He pressed it back against his shoulder and tucked the shotgun up beneath his arm.

"Dean," he stated flatly, "I still think this is a bad idea. We can go back to the motel, do more research, and come out here tomorrow night. It's cold, and I'm tired dude."

Dean huffed. He pressed on across the graveyard.

"You could have waited in the car you know Sam, I could've done this one myself" the older brother rolled his eyes. _Sam was such a drag…always whining and moaning about research…_

"Oh, come one Dean, you pulled your shoulder out of socket last week hunting that damn ghost in Tulip Grove, Illinois…doc said you had to be careful with it." Sam was just so pissed at his brother right now. _What part of take a break did Dean not understand? _Since their father had died a couple of months ago, Dean was relentless, hunting creatures, killing things. One hunt after the other, Sam thought, was too much for them both. 

"Hey, here it is," Dean said overeagerly as he stopped beside the grave marker and glared down at the writing etched against the stone. **Henry Horton, born August 15, 1952, died May 24, 1992. **

Sam hadn't talked to Bobby, so he'd just have to take Dean's word for it. He sighed loudly. He figured the sooner they dug up and torched the bones, the sooner they could go. He was tired of arguing with his big brother, hell, he was just plain ole tired. Maybe he could get some sleep tonight after all. He pushed the shovel toward his older brother's hand.

Dean grinned at Sam, "You're so worried about my shoulder, bro, you can dig the mother up." He leaned his butt against the headstone to the left, fingers poised against the trigger of his salt gun, twinkling green eyes looking straight at Sam. "Go ahead, I'll keep watch."

"Son of a bit…" Sam muttered. He released an exasperated sigh. Dean was such an ass…not only did he not want to be here, now he was digging up the mother.

He slammed the shovel down against the ground.

-0-

Sweat pooled against Sam's neck trickling lightly down his back. He shuddered, the chill of the moisture and the cool evening air making him shudder. He stopped for a moment and glared up at his older brother. Dean was still sitting; smugly, he might add, on the headstone, green eyes darting all around.

"You could help me you know," Sam said as he threw the shovel aside and attempted to pry the top off of the casket. "I think your shoulder could take it." He snapped.

"But my shoulder hurts," Dean whined and snorted. Did this one to yourself oh brother of mine, should've kept your big mouth shut.

Sam just rolled his eyes.

Dean grinned. "Hey, I'm helping. I'm keeping watch and I've got the accelerant and the matches ready, see, right here, Sam…" He toed the items resting on the ground next to his boot.

Sam pulled the top of the coffer open, eyes staring directly down at the bones inside. He pushed up and out of the grave, one dirty hand combing lightly through his too long messy hair. "Do it," he said gruffly. He slumped against the headstone of the grave. He watched silently as Dean drenched the bones in kerosene and then struck the matches and flung them quickly down inside the hole. The grave immersed in a large orange flame of heat.

Sam took a step back.

Dean grinned. "See there, Sammy that was an easy torch and burn." He said almost cockily. "Told you dude."

The wind unexpectedly whistled loudly through the trees.

Sam's eyes darted over to Dean. _Shit…easy salt and burn my ass._

The next moment was a blur of motion - Dean's gun going off, his body flying abruptly through the air, his back slamming hard into a tree. And then there was nothing. He dropped unconscious to the ground.

"Dean," Sam screamed as he scrambled for his salt gun.

He was too late though as he saw the wicked face of one pissed off ghost as it stared directly at him. He felt bony fingers wrap tightly around his neck. He wriggled, attempting to break free, but it was no use. He couldn't get away. He felt it, the first time his head was banged against the grave marker, but, he didn't feel the last.

-0-

The damp was seeping into Dean's clothing, through to his skin, and deep into his bones. He repressed a shudder that ran quickly through his limbs. _Get it together Winchester_. He stumbled forward on his wobbly legs, his hesitant hand pushing away from the tree stump, his body swaying with the movement, sweat beads rising on his brow. He swallowed convulsively. _Where the hell is Sam?_ His vision blurred for a moment then slowly started to clear as he stumbled forward in the dimming evening light.

"Sam," he yelled loudly.

He twisted his head from side to side his blurry eyes scanning around the area. He wasn't sure if it was the evening light or the concussion that was making it very difficult to see. A sharp pain spiked through his achy head and squelched shut his eyes for a moment, fingers ghosting over the large bump on the back of his head. _Shit that hurts_. He tugged his hand away and sucked in a large gulp of air. _God, I feel like crap_. He stood silently his body swaying lightly in the breeze then opened up gritty eyes again and glanced urgently around. _Where the hell is Sam? _How'd I get here without him?

He blinked and attempted to reel in his thoughts. Vaguely, he remembered, they'd been digging up a grave, some guy named Horton. _Yeah, yeah, that's it_. He knew Bobby had sent them here, he remembered that part too. Bobby was always sending them out in the middle of freaking nowhere to do a hunting job. His memory was muddled, from the concussion no doubt. He moved slowly forward. He wavered when the toe of his boot hit a rock; he stumbled, but didn't fall. He pulled his shoulders up, and focused on the graveyard splayed out in front of him. _Where's Sammy?_ He shakily placed one foot in front of the other looking at the rows and rows of headstones splayed out in front of him. _Holy crap…so many dead people, too little time. _

"Sam?" He screamed. "Sam…you answer me….Right now," he said in his best John Winchester impression. He waited, his breath caught in his throat. Still he heard nothing, but the howling of the wind. _Shit._

His fear ramped up a half a dozen notches. He leaned against a large grave marker his quivering hands resting tautly on the rock. He looked blankly around the open cemetery. _Which direction did we come from again?_ _Where'd I even park the car?_ He blinked again. _Think, damn it, think…freaking concussions…_

His eyes squeezed shut and then he blinked several more times, an attempt to clear his foggy vision. Something caught his eye. He squinted. _What's that?_ Slow recognition danced across his face - the tan jacket, the dark mop of hair. _Sammy?_

Suddenly, Dean was very clear headed – it was Sam, he recognized the shadowy form. He ran - his feet thudding vociferously against the ground below, stumbling forward, his heartbeat hammering loudly in his ears. It was the longest thirty seconds of his life, moving in slow motion toward his little brother. He swerved around the grave markers, his body weaving and pitching with his motions, his boots skidding on the ground, until finally, he fell abruptly to his knees beside the lax and pliant form.

"Sammy," he whispered. "Hey buddy, what'd you go and do?"

It was hard to see while he was panting for air, trying to get his eyes to focus on Sam's face. His fingers rested immediately against his brother's neck. Relief flooded through him and he released an audible sigh. Sam's pulse was a little fast, but he was breathing and that was a big plus in Dean's book. He gently tugged Sam up against his side. He cradled the flopping head to his chest; his fingers tugging slowly through the wild and wayward hair.

"Sam?"

He immediately pulled his hand away and glanced at his fingers; digits coated in dark and sticky blood. He carded one hand back through Sam's hair again, and grimaced at the gash he found behind his brothers ear.

"Damn it," he hissed. "That'll need stitches bro…."

Sam moaned with the motion, but his eyes stayed firmly shut.

Dean tugged at the bottom of his undershirt, pulling it upward and tearing off a strip of cloth with his teeth. He folded it as best he could with one hand and pressed it gently down against Sam's gushing head wound.

Sam moaned.

"Hey…hey kiddo…can you hear me? The older brother encouraged softly. He waited, staring anxiously at his little brother's face. "Sammy, open up your eyes." He demanded.

Dean watched, and was rewarded, when sluggish eyelids blinked slowly open and glassy hazel orbs gazed incoherently at him.

-0-

5


	3. Chapter 3

**I believe in - and who are you, again?**

**By: supernaturaldh**

**Chapter Three**

**What's my name again?**

His head hurt he knew that much for sure. Not a little hurt, no, a big one, the kind that made you really want to hurl. He swallowed convulsively. _Why's my head hurt so much?_ He could hear a voice mumbling somewhere nearby. _Whoever that is, they really need to shut up. _He couldn't really understand them because his head hurt too damn bad.

"Sam…Sammy, your okay, I gotcha," the voice said shakily.

He felt fingers on his neck. _Someone's checking for a pulse. How'd I know that?_ His thoughts were muddled.

"Open your eyes," a firm voice said.

He didn't want to open up his eyes though, in fact, he didn't think he even could. He drifted in the void of nothingness until he felt his body pulled and tugged upward, propped up against something warm.

"Alright, Sammy, wake the hell up right freaking now," the voice demanded in his ear.

_I don't think so._ The voice reminded him of someone though; he couldn't quite put his finger on a name.

"Awe, come on man, don't do this," the voice sounded kind of desperate now, "please Sammy, open up your freaking eyes. You know what…If you open your eyes, I'll let you have control of the radio in the car for a freaking week."

He felt his lips curl up at that. _Why's that make me smile?_

The tight knot in Dean's chest loosened slightly, "Sam? Come on, I see that grin, open your eyes up dude."

Sam felt his body being jostled.

"Please, please…open your eyes kiddo…" The voice was rambling now. "Sammy," it choked out huskily. "Sammy?"

And suddenly, Sam didn't know why, but he felt the urgent need to open up his eyes. He blinked. It was hard, and it made his head hurt worse, but he did it just the same. His lashes fluttered and he opened up his eyes. He looked blearily at the foggy face above him.

"Sammy?" Bloodshot eyes looked down at him.

Sam moaned. He blinked half mast eyes. "Who…are you?" He pushed weakly against the stranger's chest in a weak attempt to get away. But the strong arms held him steadily.

"Your okay….easy…" Dean's chest felt tight. _Sam doesn't know who I am? Oh man, this is bad, really, really bad. _

Sam's motions grew more frantic and forceful then in his attempt to pull away.

"It's me, you're brother, remember?" Dean just held his brother tight.

Sam looked with confusion at the sort of familiar face. "My brother?" His head was foggy but for some reason it all felt kind of right. He stopped fighting and relaxed slightly back into the stranger's hold. "My brother?" he said again.

"Yep, that'd be me." Dean smiled easily, "Dean, remember?"

Sam's lips puckered in a frown. _This guy seems kind of nice, sort of familiar._ _And my head hurts too bad to worry about it right now. _ "Dean?" he said softly.

Dean smiled. "Dean," he affirmed.

"What's…what's my name?" the concussed little brother asked.

"You're Sammy," Dean nodded his head slightly; he pressed the makeshift tee shirt bandage up against the cut behind Sam's ear. "And everything will be okay; we'll just get you up in a minute, in the car, and to the emergency room."

Sam's wobbly head nodded which made him wince again in pain. He sagged back into Dean. "I'm Sammy." He mumbled as he looked trustingly up at the stranger.

Dean felt terrible right now, not because he had a slight concussion, nope, because he'd brought Sam to the graveyard unprepared. _Sam hadn't wanted to come out here tonight, but no, I had to push the freaking issue. What the hell is wrong with me? _He glanced down at Sam's pale face, in this state; his brother looked all of five years old.

"My names Sammy," the kid mumbled again.

"Yeah, you're names Sammy." Dean patted Sam lightly on his chest.

"My head hurts," Sam slurred, blinking moist eyes up at Dean.

"I know its okay."

Dean eased Sam slowly to his side so that he was leaning back against the headstone. He needed to get them both moving; Sam needed a hospital, and let's face it, his own head hurt pretty badly.

Sam's features suddenly changed, his face taking on a slightly greenish hue. "Guh," one hand flew up and to his mouth.

"Oh crap," Dean hissed out, "Sammy?" He gripped his brother by the arm.

Sam panted several times and then hot bile spewed out across his lips and splattered loudly on the grass between his wobbly knees.

Dean gagged. He thought he might just throw up too, but he managed to swallow convulsively and hold tighter to Sam's arm, keeping his kid brother from face planting in the mess that he'd just made.

Sam finally finished and brought a shaky hand up to swipe against the dampness on his lips and chin. "I I do...don't feel so good." He whimpered.

"Okay, you're okay, just set here a minute." Dean reassured.

Sam shuddered visibly, slumping heavy into Dean.

Dean just pulled Sam closer.

The wind was getting louder and the cold breeze was nipping at their skin. Dean blinked tiredly and furrowed his brows. He looked perplexedly around the graveyard. Slow memories flooded back into his addled thoughts. _Before the tree, there was a ghost, a grave, and a salt and burn. How'd that Horton guy get the jump on us? I was burning the bones? _

The wind howled around them.

_Holy shit_, Dean remembered. They needed to get out of here and quick. "Okay Sammy, you, ready to try again for the car?" The older brother patted Sam lightly on the cheek the urgent need to get Sam to safety taking forefront in his mind.

Sam's eyes tugged open. "I'm Sammy." He said almost childlike.

"Yeah kid, I know." Dean smiled. He hoisted his overly large baby brother to his feet.

Sam swayed heavily toward the left, body falling absently sideways toward the ground.

"Whoa…Whoa…I gotcha," Dean swung his arm around Sam's waist pulling his brother up against his own wobbly side. _Get to the car get out of here get to the car get out of here. _He blinked to clear his own foggy vision, his eyes focusing directly on the Impala, setting way off across the way. "Come on Sam; let's just make it to the car buddy."

Sam grunted in response.

They hadn't gone three steps when the wind picked up to a loud screeching roar and the air grew heavier around them.

"Shit," Dean muttered. He gazed at his barely moving little brother. He stopped, pushing Sammy slowly back down to his butt against the ground.

"What," Sam whispered; he blinked blankly up at Dean. "Who are you again?"

Dean rolled his eyes, which made his head hurt. He knew the ghost was going to make another appearance just as soon as they moved to get out of the graveyard. _Sometimes ghosts were such a freaking pain. _ He flipped open his cell phone and punched Bobby's number in quick dial. _Come on come on come on._

The wind still howled around them. Sam slumped down against the ground.

"Dean?" the voice on the cell phone said almost urgently, "where the hell you been boy, I was worried shitless. Did you salt…"

"Bobby," Dean said loudly, interrupting Bobby's words. "What the hell man, we didn't' get something right, the ghost, we burned it, but it's still here."

"What?"

"We can't get out of the graveyard and Sam…" Dean squeezed his eyes his fingers pinching at his nose, "Sammy's got a concussion. Need to get him out of here."

"Okay, okay, "Bobby said forcefully, "stay calm and tell me what you did."

Sam moaned and Dean crouched down and pressed his hand against his little brother's cool cheek. Weak eyes looked up at him.

"We did what you freaking told me." Dean's voice rose up in rage. _Damn Bobby sending us out here. Sammy's hurt._

"Okay, you burned Henry Horton Senior's bones…right?"

"What?" Dean's eyes grew wide and he pressed the cell phone tighter to his ear. "Senior, you never said anything about senior."

Bobby huffed in exasperation. "I said Henry Horton born 1922 died, 1992, that's make him a senior in my book."

"Well shit," Dean hissed out. _Henry Horton, born August 15, 1952, died May 24, 1992. _"I burned the wrong freaking one."

"Dean, there's a junior and a senior." Bobby blew out an agitated sigh. "If you didn't go in all guns a blazing all the time, get off the phone, and look again you idgit."

Dean slapped the cell phone shut. _Son of a bitch._

5


	4. Chapter 4

**I believe in - and who are you, again?**

**Author: supernaturaldh**

**A/N: No beta. So be nice, all mistakes are my own.**

**Chapter Four**

**I Believe in You**

Sam blinks his eyes open again and furrows his brows like he's trying to remember something. His body gives a rough shudder 'cause man he's really cold. He's having some trouble holding his head up because it feels like it weighs a freaking ton. He gazes with heavy eyes at the stranger that is crouching down next to him, looking frantic and distressed about something.

"Are y-you o-okay?" Sam whispers, the words barely ghosting past his pale lips.

Dean looks down with a stunned expression on his face. _Isn't that just like Sammy, even when he doesn't know he's Sam, to worry about someone else? _ He blows out a weary breath, leans over and places his hand on Sam's forehead, sliding it under the bangs lying messy and limp against his little brother's face. The kid's skin is warm and damp against Dean's palm. He figures Sam's a little shocky at this point, well hell, he probably is too. He remembers his father telling him a long time ago _"you know you're in shock when you got a head injury and you can't figure what you need to do_."

"I'm okay," he reassures his little brother, and himself, his palm resting lightly on Sam's cheek. "We're okay kiddo." He takes off his leather jacket and tucks it gently over Sam. His brothers a lot worse off than he is, of that much he is sure.

Sam blinks up at him in confusion. Even though Dean's face is right up in his own, Sam doesn't seem to focus on him. "My head really hurts," he says softly, like he's all of ten years old. His barely open eyes fill quickly up with tears.

"Shush…I know." Dean says gently, he offers up his best lopsided smile. Sometimes Sam can break his heart with those looks of his. He watches as Sam visibly relaxes. "You just rest kiddo while I figure this all out." He pats Sam gently on the chest, tugging the jacket up against his little brother's chin.

Sam settles down then, leans back against the dew damp grass and lets his eyes fall slowly shut.

"Hey," Dean shakes him lightly on the shoulder, "You need to stay awake though."

With what looks like a lot of effort Sam's eyes flutter back open. They're glassy with more pupil than anything but they're looking at Dean with total trust.

"I'll get us out of this Sammy," the older brother says more to himself than Sam, so he's surprised when Sam responds.

"I I b...believe you." The kid mumbles.

Dean thinks he just might cry. Isn't that just the damn'st thing? _We're stuck out here in the middle of nowhere, on a hunt that I feel personally responsible for screwing all to hell, and Sam - he still freaking trusts me - amazing. _

The older brother shakes his head slightly at his little brother's words. His head spikes a pain and he runs his hand along the lump on the back of it and winces. It hurts, but it's not so bad this time, in fact, he's thinking a little clearer. _I'm going to fix this Sammy…_

He pats Sam's chest one more time, looks into those trusting hazel eyes, and then, pushes up to stand.

The wind howls louder and the older brother moves the flashlight around the headstones his eyes darting all around the dark cemetery_. Now, you son of a bitch, where in hell are you buried? _

**-0-**

Bobby Singer stares blankly down at the closed cell phone resting in his hand. Sometimes he wants to kill the Winchesters. He chews his lower lip, pondering the situation that Dean and Sam had obviously gotten their idgit selves into. _I knew I should've done this one myself, sending 'kids' to do a 'man's' job._ He sighs loudly. It would be so easy to just cut them boys out, not have to look out for anyone but himself, but then, what would he have – he snorts - _absolutely nothing._ He glances down at his wrist watch. _I can be there in about thirty minutes, if a floor it. _ He smiles smugly to himself. His fingers yank up the denim jacket from the back of the kitchen chair and he shrugs hastily into it. He grabs up his car keys and bounds out the door. _Damn Winchester's are gon'a be the death of me yet. _

**-0- **

Dean glances one last time at Sam, his brother shivering beneath the leather jacket staring sluggishly up at the stars and sky.

"Hey Sammy, you remember that song we used to sing when we were kids?" His eyes continue scanning the grave markers around Sam. _That mother's here somewhere._

Sam's head wobbles to the side the cool dew covered grass poking him in the cheek. "A song?" he whispers shakily.

"You know," Dean starts to sing softly, "The wheels on the bus go round and round, round and round, round and round."

Sam blinks unfocused eyes watching the man, who doesn't really feel like a stranger anymore.

"Sing it Sammy," Dean continues walking slowly. He darts the flashlight from one headstone to the next. He can't keep an eye on Sam and read grave markers too; he needs Sam to sing so he knows that he's okay.

It doesn't take much encouragement. "Round and round," Sam sings softly.

Dean has to strain his ears to hear it, but at least he doesn't have to keep his eyes on Sam. He smiles and continues singing lightly. "People on the bus go up and down." The flashlight blazes from one marker to the next.

"Up n dhow," Sam slurs, "up n dn." his eyes drift slowly shut.

The bright beam of light dashes across an almost overgrown headstone, just to the left, about five feet behind Sam's head.

Dean grins. "Yatzeh" he says happily. He frowns_, is Sam still singing_? He shines the light up above where Sam's lying behind him; lord knows bright lights hurts like hell when you have a concussion. "Sam?" A light glow falls down across Sam's face.

Sam's not responding and Dean doesn't like this at all. He bounds back to his little brother's side and drops quickly to his knees.

"Sammy?"

The older brother drops the flashlight and cups Sam's face in his hands.

Sam just moans in response and mumbles. He blinks his eyes as they roll sluggishly around in their sockets, not really focusing on anything at all.

Dean panics. _Jesus Christ, I got to get you out of here and to a hospital. _

He glances from Sam's semi conscious face to the headstone and then across the empty graveyard to the car. "Damn you Henry Horton, just try to come after us." He mutters underneath his breath. _Don't have time for this shit. _ He hoists Sammy up in his arms, cradling him like he's all of two years old. He pushes on his own wobbly knees to stand up. His head spikes a pain with the movement, but he does it just the same.

Sam is dead weight, whimpering in his older brothers arms.

"Shit Sam," Dean mutters, "you're so freaking heavy."

The older brother struggles for a moment, and then tugs his brother up against his chest.

Sam's head wobbles limply on his neck then falls up against Dean's chest.

Dean glances nervously around the graveyard and staggers forward_. If you know what's good for you Horton, you'll let us out of here._

Dean walks as quickly as he can while carrying his two ton little brother. His own head throbs with every single step as he sucks in gasps for air.

The wind whips roughly through the trees.

"Shit," Dean hisses. He makes his legs move faster the Impala looming just in front of him. _Get in the car get in the car get in the car._

Suddenly the air goes twenty degrees colder and Dean knows what's coming next. The damn ghost is behind him.

There's a loud howl and then Dean is shoved harshly his legs whooshing from beneath him. His hands grip tightly to Sam's large body as he attempts to roll to the side, to keep Sam from taking the brunt of both their weight.

They tumble forward toward the ground. _This damn ghost is so freaking going down. _It hurts as they slam hard against the earth, limbs flopping and flailing as Dean's fingers lose their grip on Sam. No matter how hard he tries he can't keep his grip on his brother. He can feel Sam fall away from him as they both skid against the mud and dirt. They roll over and over and over across the frozen ground. And then the motion stops.

The older brother lays stunned for a moment, lungs sucking futilely at air. He attempts to gain his bearings back. _They were running and they fell_. _He knows that freaking much, and man, does his head hurt. _He blinks blankly as his brows furrow in slow recognition of the wavering figure looming just above his head. He stares at the ghostly image. _Son-of-a-bitch._ He can see Sammy out of the corner of his eye and he physically tucks and rolls across the grass. _Got to cover Sam_.

The ghost screams wickedly and moves in for the kill.

Dean scrambles. _I guess this is it. I really screwed up this time, got Sam hurt, and now, the ghost is going to rip me a new one. I'd almost laugh it wasn't so damn serious. _

As the cold entity presses down against his back and physically takes his breath away, he feels Sam's cool skin beneath his own. _At least Sammy's safely tucked beneath me._ As unconsciousness, from lack of oxygen, claims him; he thinks he hears someone scream his name? _Nah, I must have hit my head a lot harder than I thought._

4


	5. Chapter 5

**I believe in - and who are you, again?**

**Author: supernaturaldh**

**A/N: No beta. So be nice, all mistakes are my own.**

**Chapter Five**

**Sometimes you just need help**

Bobby Singer sighs loudly when he sees the jet black Impala parked beneath a large oak tree just to the side of the entry to the graveyard. He had hoped he wouldn't find the car still here. He had hoped that the boys had finished up the hunt and they were long gone by now.

No such luck.

He hurriedly exits the truck and grabs up his salt gun, his shovel, and his back pack from its place stowed just behind the seat. If they're still here, then they're in trouble. His eyes dart anxiously around the empty grave yard, straining to see the brothers in the dark.

It doesn't take long.

He feels suddenly very anxious, he needs to move, and he needs to move right now.

Just across the way, some twenty feet inside the cemetery, he can see the misty entity as it hovers menacingly just above his boys. "Son of a bitch," he mutters. He sprints forward in a rush.

"Dean," he yells as he runs across the damp and muddy grass. He needs to get closer if he's going to take out old man Horton and stop him from killing Sam and Dean.

It bothered him more than he would like to admit that neither brother has responded to his yell, or acknowledged he is here. He can see Dean's not moving body and he's smack dab on top of Sam. The ghostly figure squishing down against them both and neither brother is struggling, and that gives Bobby cause for more concern.

"Get the hell away from them," he screams loudly, although he knows it won't affect the outcome, it's not like ghosts respond to screaming old men, in their fifties, although his last girlfriend thought he was pretty damn scary. _Focus here…_

His feet thud hard as he runs, his breath heaving in and out his lungs. He's really getting too damn old for this shit.

He watches as the supernatural being presses harder down on Dean's prone form, shoving both the brothers harshly into the dirt. He skids to a halt as anger pulses thickly in his veins. _This Horton dude is so going down_. He drops his backpack to the grass and tugs his salt gun against his shoulder. It only takes a moment to get the spirit set firmly in his sights. He knows the entity is too damn close to the Winchester boys, and he'd normally not take this kind of shot, but obviously, this time, he doesn't have a choice.

He fires off a round.

The ghostly spirit waivers, screams, and then disperses in the wind.

The brother's don't move.

A sense of urgency grasps at Bobby gut. He's got to make sure the boys are okay and then he's got to dig up and torch this son of a bitch. He's maybe got ten minutes tops. The ghost will make another appearance of that much he is sure.

"Dean?" The older hunter skitters to a halt and drops abruptly to his knees. The salt gun, his pack, and his shovel drop immediately down beside him as he focuses on his boys. "Sam?"

A firm hand nudges Dean skillfully off of Sam and rests him gently on his back against the ground.

Both the boys seem to be unconscious and Bobby's not sure which one he should take care of first, but that's not a decision he has to worry about, Dean's already made that choice for him. _Take care of Sammy. _The older brother's words always echo deep inside his head.

He rests his fingers on Dean's neck relaxing lightly when he feels the steady throb.

Dean rolls his head into Bobby hand like he's attempting to come around.

Bobby immediately turns his attention to Sam. If Dean comes to and Sam's not been taken care of, well, they'll be hell to pay.

Fresh blood is trickling down the side of Sam's pale face and into the creases of his shirt. His corduroy jacket is fused in red, and Dean's jacket, well; the sticky blood is pooling thickly down against it and dripping lightly to the ground.

The senior hunter shakes his head. _It's just like Dean to take off his coat and cover his little brother with it. _

He presses his index finger up against Sam's neck too, pleased when he feels a slightly thready pulse. He tugs his fingers through the too long messy hair. The kids got several large goose eggs on the back of his head and a gash that's gon'a need some stitches bleeding just behind his ear. Other than that, Sam seems to be okay, no other visible injuries that Bobby can find. He reaches into his backpack and pulls a pressure bandage from the mess. He presses it lightly against Sam's bleeding skull and tapes it loosely into place. The kid whimpers slightly, but he doesn't open up his eyes.

At this point, the older hunter's happy; at least the boys are both alive. He tugs a pin light from his coat pocket and rises up one of Sam's eyelids, shining the light into a glassy eye. _Just a bad concussion; needs a doctor, that's for sure._ He stands, removes his own coat, and drapes it lightly across Dean's still unconscious form

Dean moans, rolls his head against the ground.

Bobby thinks he's coming round.

"Easy," He crouches back down next to the sandy haired hunter and gives his shoulder a little nudge. "You with me?" he asks. "Dean?" He's rewarded when deep green hazy eyes blink open, then squint, and look curiously up at him.

"Bobby?" Dean says in a whisper.

Bobby grins. "Yeah kid, it's me in the flesh."

"What?" Dean flounders for a moment. He frowns when he spies Bobby's blue jean jacket that is draped across his form. He attempts to push his weak body up as the coat falls to the grass, his body waivers slightly with the motion.

"Whoa buddy, you just stay put." Bobby grips Dean firmly by the arm. He nudges the younger man back down against the ground.

Dean's head drops back, he blinks, his memory kind of skewed.

Bobby tucks his coat back into place.

Dean's face suddenly looks perplexed. One hand comes from beneath the jacket and rubs against his aching chest. "Son-of-a-bitch," he mumbles.

Bobby watches him curiously. "You okay?"

Dean nods kind of sluggishly. "Yeah, that freaking ghost…." His eyes grow suddenly huge and he lifts shakily up from on the ground. "Where's Sam?" He squints at Bobby.

The seasoned hunter recognizes concern immediately as it rises on Dean's face. The need to know about his brother is paramount; thoughts of his own well being are now the furthest from his mind.

"Where's Sammy?" Dean says again, louder this time. He looks frantically around the graveyard.

"He's right there."

Dean cranes his neck to see.

Sam is lying just within arm's reach.

"Sammy?" he says urgently, his body scrambling upward off the ground.

"Take it easy, "Bobby rests his hand against Dean's chest, "He's alright, or he will be, once I get you two out of here."

The wind howls loudly through the trees.

Bobby shakes his head in discontent as Dean forces his shaky body to set up and then scoots right over next to Sam. He has to smile though as the big brother pulls the kid up against his side. _ Dean is always taking care of Sam._

Sam's head lolls to rest against Dean's chest, and then he whimpers as he slowly blinks his eyes. He looks blankly up at Dean.

"He's kind of out of it." Dean says as he gazes with trepidation back at Bobby. He hugs his brother closer, pulls the denim jacket up across his form. "It's okay Sammy, I gotcha."

Bobby shakes his head in disbelief. _So Sam gets all the coats? Amazing_

The breeze continues to pick up around them.

"Would you torch that damn ghost, already," Dean says heatedly, his own head throbbing loudly in his skull. A slight shudder runs through his aching limbs, he doesn't want to admit it, but Sam's helping him stay warm.

Bobby nods in acquisition and grabs up his shovel from the ground. He feels the need to do something pretty darn quick as the air's growing colder. "Where's he buried." He asks as he tucks his denim jacket back up, making sure that both the boys are covered.

Dean rolls his eyes and then winces with the movement.

"He's over there, second grave maker, the one by the stone angel. You can't miss it."

"You did," Bobby grins as he stands up. He walks steadfastly forward toward the angel. He hears Dean snort behind his back. His lips curl in a smile. He knows that Dean feels responsible for this one, he just hopes if he jokes about it, that the kid will lighten up on himself.

"Sam will be okay," the older hunter says reassuringly his eyes glancing back at Dean, "and this is not your freaking fault." He can tell that the oldest Winchester is trying to wrap his head around the notion' cause he doesn't say a thing. _Damn ghost._

The senior hunter glares at the grave of one Henry Horton Senior. He slams the shovel into the cold hard ground. _This son-a-bitch is so going down. _

5


	6. Chapter 6

**I believe in - and who are you, again?**

**Author: supernaturaldh**

**A/N: No beta. So be nice, all mistakes are my own.**

**Chapter Six**

**Who are you?**

The senior hunter's been digging for about five minutes now as he listens to Dean talking quietly to his little brother. As always, he finds the gentleness that Dean can possess when dealing with Sam a direct contrast to the persona that he allows everyone else see. Sometimes it just warms the older hunter's heart.

"Hey kiddo," the older brother whispers softly against his little brother's ear. "We're okay now, Bobby's here."

Sam shoves lightly against Dean's side, trusting unfocused hazels looking up at him.

"Who's Bobby?"

Sam sounds like he's five.

Bobby pauses slightly with the shovel midway through its heave. He glances over his shoulder at the brothers. _Damn, the kid doesn't remember me? Well shit. This is much worse than I thought._

The ghost of Henry Horton Senior is none too happy about being dug up and at that exact moment, he decides to make reappearance. He comes screaming from the tree line and lunges straight for Bobby's head.

Dean and Sam watch wide eyed as the senior hunter drops, tucks, and rolls.

_Damn, he's pretty darn good_, Dean thinks.

Bobby yanks up his salt gun from the ground in one swift motion and fires off a round. He wants to laugh at the wayward entity 'cause it seems to think it'll get the drop on him. _Not a chance in hell of that happening -not right here, and not right now._

Dean chuckles. He doesn't remember seeing Bobby Singer move that damn fast in a quite a while.

Sam jumps unconsciously from the shotgun blast. He whimpers from the noise.

Dean pats his shaking little brother lightly on the chest, tugs him closer in against him.

"It's okay Sammy, look; Bobby's got it all under control," he coos. He bites his lower lip to staunch his muffled laughter. _That was kind of funny_.

As the ghost roars out and disperses above Bobby's head he shoves his stiff body up. He blows out a shaky breath of air_. I took care of that mother for now._ He hears Dean's muffled words and smug laughter from behind him. He shores up his features, wipes the grin off his face, and turns to stare at his young hunter friend.

"Man that was classic," Dean says almost giddily as he grins wildly at Bobby. "I just love to watch you work."

"Stuff it," Bobby says, "I'm getting way too old for this shit," he huffs in a large puff of air and pushes to stand up. "If you idgits don't stop getting yourself into jams that I got to get you're asses out of, well…." The hunter's voice trails off.

"You'll what…" Dean snorts. "Not come and help us?"

_Damn it_. Bobby thinks, kids got me freaking pegged. _So I care what happens to you, so sue me. _

"Could you hurry it up old man," Dean snorts, "it's kind of cold out here."

Bobby rolls his eyes. "Okay, smart ass, you think you can hold on to Sam and watch my back at the same time, or is that too much for you?" He drops his loaded salt gun down beside Dean's leg.

Bright green eyes twinkle and look innocently back at him. "Of course I can, I got a GED you know, I can do a lot of things."

"Whatever makes you sleep at night kid?" Bobby grins and yanks back up the shovel to continue with his work.

**-0- **

The sun is barely turning the horizon a light pale pink when Bobby throws the match down into the salted, gasoline drenched bones. He takes a step backwards and watches the remains of Henry Horton Senior pop and sizzle into a bright white-orange blaze of heat. _That'll teach that son-a-bitch to mess with my boys. _He yanks his arm up, removes his baseball cap, and swipes the sweat off of his brow. He turns to check on the Winchester brothers.

Sam's sluggish hazel eyes are at half mast, but he's watching Bobby.

Dean's got his fingers coiled around the shotgun, staring distantly into the fire that is blazing to a roar. "Guess that one's done," he says with a smile on his face as he looks at Bobby.

"Yep, he's toast." Bobby agrees. "Now, let's get you two to the hospital."

Bobby grabs up the shovel, his pack, and his shotgun. "I'll have to load up your gear too." He reaches down and picks up Dean and Sam's guns and their duffle bag. Now he's really loaded down.

"I don't need any damn hospital." Dean argues as he looks down at Sam. "But he does."

Bobby stands, the items balanced in his hands. "I think I disagree." He states. He stares heatedly at Dean. "Let me load up the gear first and then I'll help get you guys back to my truck."

"I got it." Dean says as he eases Sam down against the ground and tugs the jackets up, cocooning his brother in their warmth. "Not leaving the 'Pala out here."

Bobby looks at Dean in amazement.

Sam whimpers slightly.

"It's okay." Dean reassures his half coherent little brother as he pushes himself to stand. "Shit," he mutters. The world does a lazy spin as his knees buckle and he falls back to his butt.

Sam's head rises. He blinks vacantly at Dean.

Bobby drops the gear with a thud. He is at Dean's side in a heartbeat, his now intense eyes glaring at the hard headed Winchester. "Okay dumbass, we can do this the hard way, or we can do this the easy way, but either way, we're doing it my way!"

Sam's lips curl at the edges as he looks at both the men.

"Sam?" Dean looks at Sam curiously, "Are you laughing?" _Okay, this is good. Maybe Sam's going to be okay._

Sam just smiles bigger. He remembers this, these two strangers arguing all the time. He can't quite put his finger on who they are but he knows they're familiar.

Dean looks at Bobby. "He's the one that needs the hospital," he says almost petulantly again. "Not me." His fingers are white knuckling a grave marker as his body softly sways.

Bobby's eyebrows furrow in disbelief. "You are not driving the car in your current state. Hell boy, Sam's not the only one here with a head injury."

"Is to," Dean hisses out.

"Is not" Bobby huffs.

"Is to," Dean barks out. He pushes away from the head stone. Some of the color drains from his face and he grips his hand back against the marble marker to hold himself upright.

"Yeah, well, I'll be the judge of that," the older hunter mutters.

Before Dean can respond to Bobby, to argue his point again, a light, happy sound reaches both their ears. They look at each other in confusion and then, they look at Sam.

Sam's tucked beneath the coats, small smile resting on his face; and he's giggling_. He may have a headache, but these guys are just a hoot._

Both hunters can't help but smile at the sound.

Dean chuckles. "Stop it, Sam."

Sam continues to laugh.

Bobby chortles.

Dean's head is aching with the motion of laughing. He furrows his brow. "Stop is Sammy," he says between his own short bursts of mirth. "Laughing makes my head hurt and I'm sure it's hurting yours."

Sam grins as his giggles run their course. He rubs at his aching head. "You guys are funny." He whispers and blinks tiredly up at Dean.

Dean tugs him back up against his side. "Okay," he reneges and nods at Bobby. "Sam and I will wait right here until you come back to help us both get to your truck."

Bobby nods, barely controls his own laughter, as he picks back up the gear.

**-0- **

4


	7. Chapter 7

**I believe in - and who are you, again?**

**Author: supernaturaldh**

**A/N: No beta. So be nice, all mistakes are my own.**

**Chapter Seven**

**I Know where I am Needed**

Bobby Singer chews on his lower lip. _It's been a long freaking day_, he thinks tiredly to himself. Sam passed out about halfway to the hospital and that alone had freaked his concussed older brother out. It had taken an act of congress and two gurneys get them both inside. Now, one MRI and seventeen stitches later, the youngest Winchester was drugged to the gills and tucked away in a pristine white hospital bed, oblivious to the world, and Dean, well he'd taken up permanent residence in a hospital chair beside Sam's bed.

The older brother is a mess himself. Truth be known, he should be in the hospital bed too, but Bobby knows there's no arguing with Dean. The kid has a slight concussion and various cuts and contusions that are decorating his tired face, and from where Bobby sitting, well, he is looking kind of green. _Concussions are a real bitch_. The father figure also recognizes the lines of anxiety that are etched tightly on the older brother's face. _Sam needs to wake up – and he needs to wake up now. _

He sighs in discontent. He wishes Dean would do what he wants him too, but there's no need to push the point. He knows full well that Dean won't rest, not at this juncture anyway, not until he knows that Sammy is okay.

He pushes his baseball cap further back against his thinning hairline and shifts his butt uncomfortably in his own hard plastic chair_. It's amazing what hospitals pass off as furniture these days. _He grimaces slightly. He gazes at the two men in front of him, kids still, he thinks. He doesn't know when John Winchesters sons became his boys, but they are now, of that much he is sure.

He looks at Dean; the older brother's been holding his little brother's hand for hours now, just waiting for him to open up his eyes. The senior hunter is kind of pissed off at this point, but he's not sure who he's pissed off at - himself, or Sam and Dean? _Where did this hunt go wrong_?

He recalls the last twelve hours with weary sigh. _It was supposed to be an easy salt and burn. Something the boys should've been able to do with their freaking eyes shut._ But of course, he hadn't taken into account that they were still grieving for their dead father. He remembered Sam telling him just before they'd left his house. _Dean's a mess Uncle Bobby and I don't know what to do._ He thought they were okay after that clown thing, but now, well he's just not so sure. He shakes his head in disbelief and gazes sadly back at Sam. The youngest Winchester has suffered for his mistake. He should have been more of top of this whole 'John is dead' situation.

Sam is breathing without assistance, and that's a plus he thinks, it could've been a lot worse. The doctor assures him the kid will be okay. But he's still far too freaking pale, lost a little too much blood. Bobby thinks he needs to wake up pretty damn soon before Dean goes over the edge with worry.

He looks intently across at Dean. The older brother has finally fallen asleep; his head slumped awkwardly on his crossed arms against the side of Sam's bed, his fingers still laced inside his little brother's hand. _He looks uncomfortable as hell. _He really needs to wake him, make him move, but he can't bring himself to do it. Dean is where he wants to be.

He sighs. The hunt is over and done with, now his number one priority is to take care of his boys.

**-0-**

"Sammy?"

The voice is gentle and familiar inside Sam's head.

"Sam, come on man, it's been two days," a hiccup and a sigh, "please kiddo, you got to wake up now."

"Dean, I think his eyelashes just fluttered." Another familiar voice responds.

_Dean?_ Sam's sluggish mind latches onto that word. _Dean_. He feels foggy and very out of sorts. He wants to comprehend and understand what is being said. It's familiar, but he's not sure exactly why.

"Sam, c'mon wake up."

Sam's head throbs as he struggles to open up his heavy eyelids.

He blinks. The light is too bright and he abruptly closes his eyes shut and whimpers.

"She…sh…It's okay Sammy."A soft voice says. "Bobby, get the light."

Sam hears the overhead light flick off.

"Come on Sam, we know you're awake now, open up your eyes." Dean says gently, although his voice sounds sort of horse to Sam. His fingers card through Sam's too long bed mussed hair.

Sluggish hazels open to half mast and gaze in confusion up at Dean. His head hurts and he moans.

"Easy, you're okay." Dean reassures.

Sam's vision swims. He hears the soothing voice. He lets his eyes drift from the white of the ceiling to the blurry face that is just off to his left. Dean's features finally coming into focus. Sam notices immediately the dark circles under his big brother's bright, moist emerald eyes. _Is Dean crying? _

"Dean?" he whispers, "You okay?" he slurs.

Dean snorts, almost chuckles, and then he rolls his watery eyes. "I'm fine kiddo; it's you that's got the cracked skull dude."

Sam feels the gentle tug of fingers through his hair. A cracked skull-mum-

It's a soothing motion that Sam remembers form his childhood, all the times that he was sick. It was Dean, it was always Dean. He swallows hard; he remembers it all, the hunt, his brother, his Dad. His Dad, oh man, how he did miss his Dad. He leans into the touch. His hand flutters in Dean's direction and the older hunter clasps his wrist, squeezing reassuringly. He takes another shaky breath, and his eyes slip slowly shut. _Its okay, Dad's gone, but Dean's here_. He relaxes into slumber.

"He's gonna be okay, Son." Bobby says quietly, his hand now resting on Dean's shoulder blade.

"Yeah, I know he is." Dean says as he watches Sam drift off to sleep. He release his vice grip on Sam's fingers, gives his brother's hand a gentle pat. He swipes discretely at his eyes.

Bobby smiles, but doesn't say anything though. Sometimes it's better just to pretend that you don't see. _I wouldn't want to embarrass the kid_. "C'mon, Dean, it's time t'git you outta that chair."

Bobby grips Dean gently under the arm and helps him to stand up.

The sandy hair hunter gazes one last time at his sleeping little brother.

"Dean, I got this, I'll watch him now."

Dean smiles at Bobby, shear relief written on his face. His stiff body shuffles slowly back across the room toward his own hospital bed.

"You need to get some sleep." Bobby says. He helps Dean hoist slowly back against the pillows. He looks on as Dean relaxes, getting comfortable against the bed. "I'll be right here. I'll watch out for Sam."

Dean's eyelids droop to half mast.

"You just get some sleep."

"What about the car," Dean's eyes go suddenly wide. He stares at Bobby.

Bobby snorts. _Just like Dean needing to know that both his babies are okay._ "I'll make arrangements for that car o'yours." Bobby reassures, "I'll get it towed to my place. I promise it'll be okay."

Dean nods his head slowly, "Okay," he mumbles groggily. He lets his eyes fall back to half mast, exhaustion finally overcoming him. He looks listlessly up at his friend. "Wake me if Sam needs me," he whispers.

"Huh huh," Bobby says. He watches as Dean's head turns in the direction of the other bed, watching his brother through barely slated lids. Finally, after several moments, his tired eyes slip shut.

Bobby listens silently until Dean's breathing is evened out and he shows no signs of discomfort. He moves noiselessly back to the hard plastic chair and wearily takes his seat again. He gently brushes Sam's hair back away from his forehead before whispering to the youngest Winchester. "You're going to be alright."

Sam shuffles slightly, leaning his face into Bobby's hand

Bobby smiles, tugs his fingers through Sam hair again while his eyes glance over at Dean's now sleeping form.

And he smiles.

**The End!**

5


End file.
